Leopards Don't Change Their Spots
by breather89
Summary: House has had dreams of World War One. Except he never talked about them. Until after his father's funeral.


Leopards Don't Change their Spots

 _The dreams were always a bit frightening. First bombs, bullet shells, dense fog and some annoying tinny voice screaming, "Captain!"_

 _But the worst was somewhere close to the arteries in his lower leg._

Dr. House snapped out of it quickly. No use reminiscing his past. He'd been looking over the notes from the funeral. About his family's past.

Wilson came in, groaning. House piped, "Patient got cancer in his arm again?"

"No, actually." Wilson answered, not quite sarcastically, "Anyway, what are you looking at?"

House snapped the file closed as his eyes focused on Wilson. Wilson could see this was either blackmail or porn. Maybe both.

"House?" he began cautiously.

"Family history."

Wilson walked over, picked it up from the desk and looked through.

"Your family in the First World War...?"

"Told you."

Wilson asked, "Where was this?"

"The funeral."

"You _stole_ it?"

"No," House lay back, not taking his eyes off Wilson, "I found it at my mom's. Interesting. It's just the same old garbage until the war, posh people ranting on..."

"Posh?" Wilson asked, "How posh?"

"Their name was Colhurst St. Barleigh and I'm glad my grandfather changed it when he moved to the states. Impossible to fit on a tag."

Wilson's eyebrows flew up and he replied, "So, posh then."

Then he asked, "How was it interesting?"

House pushed forward one piece of paper. "My great-grandfather. Lieutenant. Was in France for three years until the court-martial and rumors started."

Wilson answered, " _Now_ I see why you read this, House. What happened?"

"Why should I tell you?" House swung on the chair.

"Because I'd like to know." Wilson almost squeaked. Even now, he was scared of his friend.

House carried on talking, enjoying himself.

"In 1917, Lieutenant Colhurst St. Barleigh was in France. He was in a bunker with two others. They were going into No Man's Land when one of them starting running back. Lieutenant ended up being dragged along with him."

"Didn't he want to go on?" Wilson asked.

House put his head to one side. "When I say dragged, I _mean_ dragged, his leg was caught in barbed wire. The Private had screamed for the Captain, then ran back to the trench. He'd grabbed my great-grandfather's hand and got back.

"There was a court-martial but they acquitted the both of them."

"Acquitted?" Wilson asked.

"They decided the Private was too stupid to understand. Even the judge wasn't thick enough to try my great-grandfather. When your leg is caught in wire, you can't help being taken."

House straightened up and held a finger out. "There's more."

He got the next piece of paper. Wilson took it.

"Homosexual?" Wilson was startled.

"They'd cleaned out the bunker. They found the diary of the dead Captain. A Mr. E. Blackadder. He had homosexual feelings towards the Lieutenant."

Wilson tried thinking. "Did they say if he returned any feelings?"

"Unsure. I wanted to find them, but it was a task. Blackadder's will was his belongings would be given back home. He didn't have any relatives. Apart from a cousin and a kid he had during an affair with a nurse, his line would have been over."

"Affair?" Wilson was intrigued.

House waved his hand. "That's not what I think about. The fact is, I had dreams when I was young. Dreams about – fog and mud and agony. Strange thing is, my leg hurt in the dream in the exact spot it does now. But I got the injury in adulthood."

Wilson straightened. "You don't believe it's related?"

House glared. "You really want to ask that?"

Wilson looked at the floor.

"My great-grandfather probably never liked the Captain more than just a fellow soldier. But my family didn't believe he was gay. They named me after him, matter of fact."

"He was named Greg?"

"George. My father was drunk when he signed the birth certificate."

Wilson made a noise suggesting 'that makes sense'.

He asked, "The third soldier's name? Did you find..."

"Completely unknown. Nobody told me. He was mentioned in the diary as being as thick as a privy bend, but I don't know anything else. Also, he seems to have had worse handwriting than Taub. He tried spelling his name in the diary. Looked like a spider had stepped in ink and died while pirouetting."

Wilson asked, "You saw it?"

"No. There were photographs of the page."

Wilson was about to leave when he asked, "Do you dream about – anything else?"

"Aside from being in bed with a hot nurse, hardly anything."

"Hardly?"

"Talking to someone resembling a mole, eating pigeon pie and – this – listen, you'll just think I'm odd."

"What did you see?"

"My great-grandfather. I had the dream before I saw his picture. It wasn't just his clothing; he was the spitting image of me. I had that dream before I looked like this."

Wilson began, "Are you telling me you believe..."

"Go and annoy your patient. I've got a three o'clock meeting."

"You don't have a patient."

"Not a patient, someone with fewer clothes on." House picked the cane up and began walking out.


End file.
